search

Níkos Davvétas

From: The Yellow Darkness of Van Gogh (1995)

Blind Man's Bluff

On Sundays I usually went blind; I'd suddenly lose my sight and be trapped, defenceless, indoors. For such occasions I used to keep a trained dog, who helped me to avoid the furniture and keep intending murderers away.

When the dog died you turned up, eager to be my Ariadne in the dark labyrinth of my Sundays. It was your habit to come in the afternoon and leave around midnight, before I regained my sight.

Very soon I was passionately in love with you, but you'd never let me touch so much as your hand. The only thing you ever gave me was a white stick; and with its help I managed, one Sunday when you were late, to get as far as the front door. It was then I saw you, for the first and last time: among all the

women hurrying by I recognised you by the big black scarf you were holding.